After You, Krieg
by SpearmintMirage
Summary: Even in the wake of Canopy's greatest tragedy, Parasoul needed only one confidante.


Renoirs didn't cry, and Parasoul was no exception.

She shut and locked the door to her room. The voices of extended family and politicians had faded from the hallways. Finally, she was free of people trying to pry emotion out of her, leaving only Krieg resting loosely in her fingers.

She sighed and allowed orange tears to well up in her eyes. The rest of her face however stayed only softly upset, and her breath was devoid of any whimpers or sobs. She wasn't holding back anymore, but this was all that came out.

Renoirs didn't cry, but sometimes Parasoul wished she did.

She wandered to her bed and sat down, her tears' luminescence making it a little difficult to see. They'd been that way ever since she'd first held her Living Weapon. Dad said it was normal to catch a quirk or two once you became a wielder.

Oh goddess, _Dad_.

A king wasn't allowed the luxury to stop and mourn. He was deluged by all the important adult questions: How will the contested territories be split up? How will this uneasy alliance be sustained in the long-term? How will Canopy adjust to post-wartime? What kind of flowers will be ordered for the funeral? You_ are_ ready for the funeral, right, Franz?

Parasoul was waiting for the one he'd answer last. He could outlast a war but opening his eyes had exhausted him. Facing the lengths his wife had gone through to disrupt his iron reign and viewing his regime from a kinder perspective was hitting him harder than an ICBM.

He wanted to step down, and Parasoul had every right and intention to step up. It was only a matter of time before he would be at peace with it.

It wasn't that he didn't trust her with the position, far from it in fact. But he was still her father, enough of one for her to expect a push to finish her education. It was only Fall, and Canopy Academy would surely be lenient with her taking time to mourn. And what about the opportunities she would miss, like senior prom, the graduation ceremony, her friends-

...Right. That pretense was gone too. Dad didn't kid himself like Mom used to, about what their daughter had or what she really wanted.

The mist over Parasoul's eyes was getting irritating, so she tightened her grip on Krieg's handle. Instantly its jewels lit up as the boiling behind her eyes went still, leaving residual heat in their sockets.

Most everyone was worried about her being alone right now, but that's what she needed, just her and Krieg sharing silence. It didn't talk and wasn't quite sentient, but it was alive. Whether it was an extension of her, its own entity or somehow both, it understood without either of them having to say a word.

Maybe that was mom's problem. She had rarely carried Todd in hand or even kept it in the same room as her. Living Weapons were supposed to represent their wielder, and she didn't seem to like what a bird skull with a beak built like a scythe said about her. But maybe she should have listened.

Of course, the one time she'd had it with her had been the night she'd snuck out to the cathedral. And of course, the one time she did what Dad had pestered her to do, it had almost gotten him killed.

No matter how she tried to remember gentler times, the night in the cathedral had stained her memory, the night she had bore witness to the birth of a Skullgirl. Parasoul wanted nothing more than to erase that scene from existence, to wake up and find her mother alive and happy by her bedside, but another ungentle thought persisted.

Just _thinking_ it in public felt dangerous, but she knew was safe here. She finally closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

_…_Dammit, Mom.

_She_ had wished on the Skull Heart knowing what it could do to her. _She_ had slaughtered her own army. _She_ had forced the man she loved to kill her. And _she_ had left her broken family to pick up the pieces. And even if her intentions were so painfully close to pure, her mistakes were just as egregious as her husband's. There were solutions to the world's problems, and she, in all of her wisdom and empathy, had chosen _this_.

But all of that was heresy. Nancy was history's darling little victim now, and Franz – no, every Renoir until now – was its villain, simple as that. No person in this entire damn palace would disagree. So how could Parasoul feel any different?

But Krieg knew the answer. Krieg understood.

Renoirs didn't cry. No, instead the princess quietly laid back on her bed, cradling her Weapon and staring ahead like she could see the vague someone she felt in her arms.


End file.
